


The Thread Of My Heartstrings (Does Tear)

by RougeBlatant



Series: Non-Calorecest Fics [2]
Category: Red Queen - Victoria Aveyard
Genre: Glass Sword Spoilers, Manipulation, Maven Sympathising, Pre-Warstorm, Reflection, Self-Blame, Short One Shot, vent - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 08:12:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15481464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RougeBlatant/pseuds/RougeBlatant
Summary: "To blame her for all of his misdoings, all the ways that his mind, the one that she had tore apart, had hurt so many more. Could he blame that on her? Isn't it his own fault though, it was his own hands after all."Maven struggles to understand who is in the wrong after his mother's death and who is to blame.





	The Thread Of My Heartstrings (Does Tear)

**Author's Note:**

> This is both a rant and a vent.  
> Personally, I believe that Maven shouldn't have been killed off (at least not in the way he was, or for the reason he was, I have a whole rant about that in tumblr though, if you want to read just ask in the comments and I'll post a link.)  
> I do think Maven was heavily victimised and that very little thought was actually put into the solution to him by the guard and the rebels.  
> He was a young boy, heavily manipulated by his mother, presumably through his life. Yes this left him destroyed and twisted, but it's not fair for them to say "Elara's gone, everything from now it's all his fault." Elara we know left her scars, he can't dream, he can't love and think of his family without it causing him pain. While I enjoy Aveyard's depiction of him, I do believe he would be much more unstable then she writes.  
> So I wrote this.  
> As I mentioned, this is also a vent, so yeah...
> 
> If anyone wants to reply their thoughts back about Maven and your thoughts on whether he was Victimised, I would be interested in reading them, no matter what it is.  
> Thank you.  
> E

It hurt, it always did, when he thought of her. Whenever he thought of her he felt the missing pieces in his head, the pieces that no matter he tried to fill them, like a broken puzzle nothing would fit. No matter how hard he tried to crush them in, or pinch them out they just became mashed and ruined, 

He didn't know how to feel, with all what remained of his heart he wanted to feel betrayal, he wanted to feel anger and hate towards her. To blame her for all of his misdoings, all the ways that his mind, the one that she had tore apart, had hurt so many more. Could he blame that on her? Isn't it his own fault though, it was his own hands after all.

Clutching those hands to his head, he kneels in his room, curled over, trying to cry; maybe if he cries for her, he can finally let her go. He screams at himself that she was the one to start this, she started this all, but a voice in his head speaks back, whispering, it was all his fault. The whisper curls around his head and he has no doubt it's her calling him from beyond her grave. 

Her grave, perhaps that's the answer. He stands wearily and stumbles out the door, instantly changing to the persona of a king, the persona that she melded. Whenever anyone tries to follow him, he waves them away. He cannot let them see this weakness of his, a king can never been seen as weak, that's what she'd hissed to him ever since her plan had come into motion. No, it was their plan, that's what she'd called it, hadn't she? Cauterised away his feelings for his father, his brother, for the girl she had deemed as scum. The girl he had loved. 

He is all alone, in this location, in mind, in allies. Part of him knows that in the end, they will come for him, that they will succeed, after all, how many are willing to stay and die against an immeasurable number of enemies. Collapsing in from of her grave, he can't help but to look up at his father's, far grander, far more striking. The people loved him, the father, yet the people did not love him, the son. The second son, the voice whispered in his head, the son who shouldn't sit where he does sit; should not walk where he does walk; the son who is not where he is supposed to be. 

"This is all your fault." Maven speaks aloud to no body but himself, hoping she would hear him through the stone, or in the air, or maybe through himself. She left enough of herself there after all. It doesn't matter how he says it though, how fast slow, in what tone. Either way he knows, no matter how much he says that it's her fault, he will always blame himself more, and his mother is to blame for that too.


End file.
